WWZ Files: A Hero
by MaskedAndDangerous
Summary: Years after World War Z, several interviews were conducted with the survivors. Shirou Emiya is one such survivor. One shot.


Taiping Kingdom History Musuem, Nanjing, China

**[Shirou Emiya is an oddity in both appearence and manner. Despite being chronologically in his mid-thirties, the man's hair is pure white, a side effect, he assures me, of the same condition that darkened his skin tone. With his red cloth jacket and black shirt, he more resembles a samurai then anything else, contrary to the chinese blades on his waist and the compound bow beside him. Born and raised in Japan, Shirou's work in continental Asia is well known.]**

It's funny. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a superhero. That's what my father was to me. He saved people, like he saved me. When he died, I promised him I would take up his mantle.

**[Records of Kiritsugu Emiya prior to his eventual settling in Fuyuki City after the city's Great Fire are non-existant]**

Saving people. That is what I wished for. To have the same look in my eyes as he had when he saved me. A foolish ideal for a foolish child. I learned quickly what it mean to save people.

**What do you mean?**

Every time you save one life, you leave another to die. One life for ten, ten for a hundred, a hundred for a thousand. It never ends, the blood on your hands because you weren't fast enough, or had to make a call. Worse, to wish to save someone is to wish someone is in danger. It's a damning wish, for a borrowed ideal.

**That seems like a bitter way to look at it**

It's a bitter world. **[He sighs] **But who else could shoulder that burden, but one with that ideal. Save ten by sacrificing one. That's why, after the evacuations, I left for China. Japan was empty, except for the fallen. China was filled with siafu, and even more people who needed a hero. I was young, and freshly blooded in conflict. I was an exquisite sword, and the dead were the foe I was to be swung against.

**[His golden eyes meet mine for a moment]**

I had no idea. China wasn't a warzone. It was a slaughterhouse. I saw mountains of the creatures, ravening mouths all wanting. The air was filled with death. Especially Shang Hai. I'll never forget Shang-Hai.

**Could you elaborate?**

I was with a young man named Tohno Shiki at the time, along with a small group of like-minded people, including members of a secret church-funded kill team known as the Burial Squad. **[He sees my look and shrugs]** Stranger things have existed. Anyways, the boatman we hired refused to stay at the dock, leaving us stranded there as he took his payment and his ship elsewhere until we called again. That was when they came.

**The zombies?**

**[He nods]**

The first moan wasn't unfamiliar. Then came the second. And then more. I don't need to describe the sound, everyone knows it. **[He looks down for a second] **Needless to say, that got us moving. I don't remember how man zombies we killed that day, but I do remember thinking that it was the entire population of China. The People's Square became a pile of corpses.

Then we heard a scream.

Someone had heard our commotion and had come to investigate, only to be caught by the undead. **[He fishes inside of his jacket and pulls out a bracelet. ] **Her name was Lin Bao. She was twenty three years old, and played the trumpet before the outbreak. Her sister gave me this, when I told her what had happened. That was two weeks later, as we searched the city for survivors. There was no plan, no rescue station. It was a city of the dead. After a month, our ride returned, shocked we were still alive. He took the survivors, and the others, back to Jeju-do.

**But you stayed behind.**

How could I not. I knew there were more people out there, in need of rescue. If I had to give my life to save them, then so be it. I am a sword. Swords can be broken, if it's in the name of defending someone. For five years, I wandered from city to city, saving those I could and avenging those I couldn't. Sometimes people stayed, sometimes they left. After the dam broke, there were more. Especially soldiers. A lot of men deserted, after their leaders deserted them. A lot of people died who didn't have to. For a while, we were heroes. Soldiers of the people, led by the crazy Japanese archer. I wasn't a leader, but I did my best. We focused on saving people more then just killing zombies, something that threw a lot of people. Sometimes, people need a symbol of hope, and we were it. I guess that's why the government tried to kill us.

**The Chinese government?**

Yeah. We got too close, I guess. While we weren't the biggest group of non-government interferers, we were the most visible, because we were going into the most densely populated areas and getting people out. White Zones, the Americans called them. We never actively fought the Chinese Army, but we did rescue a lot of the people caught in between the resistance and the government. Unlike the resistance, we made it no secret where we were. And maybe that was foolish of me too, attracting attention like that. But even I didn't see it coming when they firebombed our safe zone. Nearly two thousand people, Chinese citizens all, and they died in flames at the hands of their own government. I've lived through fire like that before, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. And for what? To prove a point? That the government was the only safe refuge? Garbage, all of it. I was almost disappointed when the old men were nuked by those submariners. I wanted to stick my blades down the general's throats after what they did. Quick death by atomisation was too good for them.

**[He draws the twin blades. One is white while the other is black, an inscription shared between two of them on the handle. It reads "Spirit and Technique, Flawless and Firm"]**

Do you know the tale of Kanshou and Bakuya? They were ancient legendary blades, of which these are a copy. A husband and wife team of smiths forged them for pure craftsmanship. They had no desire to become great, no faith to become legendary, no wielder of note. They were blades without purpose, without self. If there was an emotion to be felt in them, it is mourning. In their creation, the wife sacrificed herself to sanctify the metals, leaving the husband alone to create two perfect swords.

I often wonder why I chose to master these phantoms. They match my fighting style, certainly, and against the undead a pair of blades can be quite deadly. But I often wonder if it's also because, like the sword, I am empty. Since I was a child, I've never felt anything unless I was helping someone. Until I met the owner of these blades, my life was empty of purpose beyond becoming a hero of justice. He made me realise that I could selfishly follow a selfless goal, or else I'd become a rusty blade. That bastard. He knew what was coming, and he didn't say a word. I could say I'd kill him if I saw him again, but then I wouldn't be able to look in the mirror.

**[Shirou Emiya disappeared two months after this interview. He turns up every few months, generally in areas that haven't been reclaimed from the undead, to save someone before disappearing again]**


End file.
